


every night i burn (every night i call your name)

by astrangecupoftea



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Anxiety Attacks, Clexa, Commander Lexa, Eventual Romance, F/F, F/M, Lexa Lives, Like I promise ya'll, M/M, Multi, Polis, Post-Canon, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Slow Burn, Survivor Guilt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-01
Updated: 2016-07-01
Packaged: 2018-07-19 09:18:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,592
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7355113
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/astrangecupoftea/pseuds/astrangecupoftea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"But… her strong Skai girl, heart unmarked and unmarred by havoc to such a vast extent. Eyes new to the spoils of abolition such as this. Thrown into a battle she thought she could not win on her own, but did – to what end, though? What will she know of death when her dust settles and she counts her losses? What pain do they now share? What pain has she wrought upon her, what has Lexa left her with?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	every night i burn (every night i call your name)

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, it's your friendly neighborhood procrastinator, back 'atcha with another project. Enjoy, and I'll see you at the bottom!

Her mouth tastes sickly sweet, mead clinging to her tongue and throat and her head buzzes, a low hum in her ears. She doesn’t know what the sound is from, and she pats at her ears in an attempt to quiet it. Her eyes slowly look around, a blurry halo making the room around her warm and lazy. The man behind the counter looks concerned, as he has for a long while. He had tried and failed to stop her from consuming any more drink but conceded when she became frustrated, sticking one of her daggers tip-first into the wood of his tavern. She can feel remorse for her actions later, when her mind is not so hazy and she does not feel as if a weight is pressing down upon her chest, heavier with each passing moment.  
  
“Taim na bants,” she says, swinging her legs around on the stool. _Let’s go._  
  
Her feet touch the ground and she is swaying, reaching a hand out to steady herself.  
  
“Ste em ku?” _Is she okay?_  
  
There are hands on her now, sturdy and warm, grabbing her arm.  
  
“Indra, my head may not be clear but my body is still sound. _Klir I off_ ,” she bites, her tongue still sharp despite her current state. _Let me go._  
  
Indra looks unsure for several moments, but her grip loosens and she lets go, nodding once and looking to the man.  
  
“You have been generous. How do you wish to be paid?” Indra says, already reaching to the satchel at her waist for a trade.  
  
“No, no, en’s ogud,” he replies, wringing his hands around a cloth. _It’s okay._ “I am very happy to serve my Heda, and honored to have her in my tavern. She is deserving of all. Heda has made it safe for my family and I to once more go outside of these walls. We no longer fear the Maunon. I am thankful,” he insists, eyes quickly looking over her face and armour. He seems terrified, she notices. Through this he still smiles, his words genuine and true.  
  
The weight in her chest becomes a crushing blow at his words, knocking the air out of her.  
  
“It was not I that defeated the Maunon. You must tell your family that,” she rasps, leaning forward with both hands on the wood in front of her. Her eyes are wide, and he takes a small step back and swallows hard. “It was not I. Klarke kom Skaikru brought down the Maunon. You _must_ tell them, tell _everyone_!”  
  
“Noumou, Heda!” Indra hisses, grabbing her by the straps of her armour and forcing her back. _Enough!_ “What Heda means is it was not her actions alone, but the actions of her _and_ the Heda kom Skaikru.”  
  
The man’s face relaxes, and he gives a short nod. “Sha, I understand.”  
  
Her skin prickles with heat, and she sweats under her layers of leather and metal. Her face feels itchy and the room begins to warp and curve, almost knocking her off her feet. She stumbles and Indra’s arm grasps her elbow. Indra quickly pulls her out into the street, the chilled air hitting her and contrasting too starkly with the warmth of her body. A feeling rolls in her gut, building and making her breath come quicker and harder and she doesn’t mean to brush past her people who reach their hands out to her, making sounds of concern or surprise.  
  
The guards in front of her residence shift quickly and open the doors wide at the sight of her, hand pressed to her chest and muttering words she can barely make out herself. There is too much pressure in her head, there is not enough air. Her brain will explode, and she will deserve it. She will deserve it.  
  
Her attendant, Niani, meets them at the door to her quarters, eyes wide as she looks at her from head to toe.  
  
“Niani, prepare Heda a bath,” Indra says, leading her into her room. The young girl wrings her hands, face red, and she wants to ask her why she looks at her with such horror. Does she already know of her betrayal on the Mountain? She should. All should know, should spit at the sight of their Heda – their most disloyal, most unfaithful leader.  
  
“Indra, ai laik ku. Leave me.” _I am fine.  
_  
“I will have a tonic brought to you for your stomach,” the woman says, reacting as if Lexa hadn’t spoken at all. “You will feel sick after that much mead.” She pulls at her shoulder guard and red cape, struggling with the straps.  
  
There is so much noise; the clinking of her armour as Indra drops her guard to a table, the sound of hot stones against her metal basin as Niani prepares her bath, the bustle just outside her doors as people rush through the hallways, chattering to each other. And there is the buzzing. The low hum. It roars now, and she closes her eyes against it as if it were an onslaught of rain, a torrent coming down upon her and making her heavy and laden. There is another sound, a strange one, something low and strangled. Her hands clasp over her ears, but it does not silence.  
  
It is not until Indra is shaking her roughly, her head bobbing back and forth, that she realizes she was screaming.  
  
“ _Heda,_ _beja!_ What is wrong with you?”  
  
“ _Get out_. Leave me, everyone out - _kom nau_!” _Right now.  
  
_ The door shuts loudly behind Indra and Niani as they leave and she is pulling at her armor, her sword and daggers clanging to the ground, ripping off her chest guard and clawing at the neckline of her shirt, gasping for breath. She makes messy work of taking off the holsters at her thighs and tearing off her pants, socks and boots until she is bare, shaking and feeling small in the middle of her room.  
  
She stumbles to her bath, stopping as a figure reflects itself in the cloudy surface of a large mirror. It takes a moment for her eyes to adjust to the orange candlelight, and then she chokes on her breath.  
  
Blood. Rusted red, caked all over her hands, mixing in with her black war paint and streaking down the sides of her face. Blood, angry under her skin, bruising her side and arm and leg. Now she knows why people looked at her in terror as she passed by – she is drowning in blood, destined as she always had been.  
  
She sinks into the warm water, takes a bar of soap and begins to wash herself. She works slowly at first, starting with her face and working her way down. When she reaches her arms and hands it is harder to get everything off and she grabs a cloth, buffing her skin until it becomes red and angry. She scrubs down her stomach, hissing when she brushes over her bruises, cleans down her legs. Her hair is in knots, mussed and clumped with dirt and death and it is difficult to undo her braids. She scrubs her scalp, scrubs the lengths of her hair, scrubs behind her neck and behind her ears and wishes she could scrub behind her eyelids too, to wash away the image of golden hair and bright blue eyes standing in that rotten battlefield, her eyes wide and shattered, so broken.  
  
Lexa is used to war, to the foul smell of annihilation, to the sharp ache of the dissolution. The destruction wages its own battle inside her afterward but she recovers as well as she can, for she must. She bears the burden of obliteration so her people do not, so they may wake the next morning and parents may send their children to classes with smiles and assurances that their Heda has served them well and they are safe once more. She may not rest, for her mind may cloud with images of ruin and swim with the cries of the dead and the dying, and she may bend over a metal bucket and empty her stomach after a meal because she has recalled the smell of her festering foes laid upon the ground.  
  
She will continue and another conflict may wage, and there will be combat and bloodshed and she will not sleep for many moons once more. But she will do it all, for her people. Always for her people, as she has done this time.  
  
But… her strong Skai girl, heart unmarked and unmarred by havoc to such a vast extent. Eyes new to the spoils of abolition such as this. Thrown into a battle she thought she could not win on her own, but did – to what end, though? What will she know of death when her dust settles and she counts her losses? What pain do they now share? What pain has she wrought upon her? What has Lexa left her with?  
  
It feels like there is a crack in Lexa’s chest, opening wider and wider at every thought of her, and she is quaking again. The water is warm, but she is trembling. She wraps her arms around herself, sinks lower into the polluted water and lets her head rest against the back of the basin.  
  
Sounds drift to her ears from the street, past her open balcony door, through her bathroom door. There is laughter, yelling, _cheering_. News has spread of her return, of victory, of the fall of the Maunon. Lexa’s eyes drift closed as she tries to force down the sour feeling at the back of her throat that wants her to turn and retch over the side of the bath.  
  
There is a knock at her bedroom door.  
  
“ _Heda?”  
  
_ “ _Min yup op_.” _Enter._  
  
Niani tentatively comes in and shuffles into the bedroom. She hears rather than sees a metal tray being placed on a table, and then the woman slowly enters the bathroom.  
  
“Some water and a tonic for your stomach, Heda.” She hesitates, and she stays silent for her to continue. “And a tonic to help you sleep.”  
  
Lexa sighs and opens her eyes, meeting Niani’s weary ones.  
  
“Mochof. I… apologize for acting as I did earlier.”  
  
The girl smiles slightly. “You must not apologize. I understand.”  
  
Lexa does not respond, sitting up in the water until her shoulders are no longer submerged. Niani looks at her hair and makes a sound of disapproval.  
  
“Would you like to get out and dress for bed, Heda? I will wait and brush your hair once you are out,” she says. Lexa nods slightly, and the girl turns and closes the door behind her as she leaves.  
  
It takes her a long moment to emerge from the bath, hoisting herself up with a small groan, the exertion and strain on her muscles beginning to catch up to her. She dries herself off with a large towel and dresses in the long nightgown folded neatly beside the bath. When she emerges into her room, Niani is seated on the edge of the bed, a hair brush on her lap. Lexa’s feet drag as she heads to the bed, but the girl holds a hand up.  
  
“Not so quickly. The tonics first,” she says, eyebrow raised, inclining her head toward the tray. At Lexa’s slightly indignant look, the girl’s face reddens. “ _Moba_.”  
  
“Do not be sorry, Niani,” she says, swallowing the first drink quickly. It tastes mainly of ginger root and stings a little going down. “Your sister was the same. She enjoyed the taste of these, if you can imagine.” She hesitates at the second one, knowing of the bitter taste of sleep tonic that lingers for a moment after consuming it. She does not know why she brings the girl's sister up - perhaps the alcohol makes her careless. She is more eager than before to rid her braid of the foggy haze of intoxication.  
  
“There is mint water in the metal jug. To wash away the taste.”  
  
The tonic is down quickly, and Lexa silently hopes this one may work this time. She pours a glass of the water and drinks from it heartily, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, and then moves to sit in front of Niani on the bed.  
  
“There is celebration in the streets, now that you are back and word travels of victory,” Niani quietly starts, gently beginning to work through the knots at the nape of her neck. “There is to be a festival, beginning tomorrow and lasting all day. Do you wish to attend?”  
  
She sighs through her nose, closing her eyes. She can hear the sounds from the street still, and her stomach churns.

“Possibly. I suppose I must,” she replies. There are few people Lexa can speak honestly with, and this girl with the soft brown eyes and ebony brown hair is one of them.  
  
“If you do, there will be great joy among the people of Polis.”  
  
“What do they know of the battle?” Lexa says, the crack in her chest opening up once more.  
  
_May we meet again_ echoes in her mind _.  
  
_ “They know you fought well, and made great sacrifices. They know you did as you must to ensure our safety.”  
  
“And?”  
  
“And what, Heda? I do not understand.”  
  
Lexa clenches her jaw, and the break in her chest threatens to rupture into a chasm.  
  
“Hashta _Skaigirl_?” _What about the Sky girl?  
  
_ Niani continues brushing through her hair for several seconds, silent.  
  
“Beja, Niani. I trust you to tell me the truth… as _Anya_ always did.”  
  
The weight of the lifeless and the living cracks her in two and her chest is an open wound; a great, hollow fissure. She could fall into her own void – she wishes she could.  
  
The girl inhales sharply at the mention of her sister, her hands pausing in their ministrations.  
  
“They… they speak well of her,” she whispers. “They have given her a name worthy of her triumph.”  
  
Lexa closes her eyes. “And this name? What is it?”  
  
“The people… they call her ‘ _Wanheda_.’”  
  
  


* * *

 

 

  
  
It is very early and the city is quiet still, not yet fully awake though Lexa has been for several hours. She stands, robe draped over her shoulders, on the balcony of her room as she watches a thin tuft of grey smoke bloom from the top of a small baker’s hut near the main thoroughfare.  
  
The sky shifts, a muted orange that bleeds into blue and the air is crisp and clean. She breathes deep, willing herself to forget the damaged smell of warfare. She looks off to the distance, searching for things she knows she cannot see.  
  
There is a sound behind her and Niani enters, a tray almost spilling over with food on balanced both hands as she nudges the door open with her foot. Lexa rushes over, taking the tray from the girl who unsuccessfully tries to swat her hands away.  
  
“ _Beja_ , Lexa,” she says. “Let me. You must rest still.”  
  
“This one action will do me no harm, though the portions are enough to feed many of my armies.”  
  
“You will need a full stomach for the festival today.” Lexa sits carefully, her sides still tender and her joints still aching, and does not reply. “Will you be attending?”  
  
“It is yet to be decided. I have no doubt the council will be seeking me, and I have many things to attend to still,” she sighs, forcing herself to begin eating.  
  
“I understand. You are up early. Are you well?”  
  
She does not reply to the question. “Can you send Indra to me?”  
  
“Sha, Heda,” the girl replies, bows her head, and exits the room.  
  
Lexa eats without tasting, chewing and swallowing as a reflex. There will be much food left over, enough for two more meals at least. She takes her plate to the balcony with her and watches as the streets slowly begin to dot with people, preparing the area for a celebration. Red ribbons are strung between poles and above doors of huts; market tables are laid with red cloth; below her, guards attach a flowing crimson flag to a pole and hoist it high into the air above her. Soon, her residence will be drenched in the color, garlands hung over balconies. All will be red, blood red. Her stomach twists, and she no longer hungers. Her plate is placed on the table, and she takes a long drink of water to soothe her suddenly dry throat.  
  
There is a knock, and at Lexa’s word the door is opened once more. Indra steps through and she is wearing her ceremonial armor, reserved only for celebrations and never for battle.  
  
“You wished to see me?”  
  
“I have a favor to ask of you.”  
  
“Anything, Heda,” Indra says, bowing her head respectfully.  
  
“TonDC is much closer to the Skaikru camp than Polis is. Send your best to watch them and keep an eye always trained on their… their Heda. Have them return to Polis in three day’s time to inform me of what they have observed.”  
  
Indra purses her lips, hesitating to nod for a moment. “Sha, Heda, I will do as you say. Forgive me for asking, but what is the reason?”  
  
“I have hampered the Skaikru with a great betrayal. To think they plan no revenge is foolish.”  
  
“Is this the only reason?”  
  
Lexa absently rolls a small piece of fruit around her plate. “What other reasoning could I have?”  
  
Indra shifts on her feet for a moment, her hand resting casually against the grip of her sword. “You worry for Heda kom Skaikru.”  
  
Her head snaps up, the back of her neck feeling flushed.  
  
“Heda, I apologize, I did not mean to – “  
  
“If it is my wish to know how the Heda kom Skaikru fares, it is for _no other reason_ than that which I have already explained to you. She is _most_ essential to any plans the Skaikru have for retaliation, and should be the main focus of our watch.”  
  
Indra drops to one knee, eyes to the floor.  
  
“Bosh moba, Heda. I did not mean to offend you.”  
  
Lexa sighs and wraps her robe tighter around herself as she moves to stand in front of Indra. Her hand touches the woman’s shoulder.  
  
“I am the one who must feel remorse, Indra. For the night before and today. You have served me very well, and I have responded with anger.”  
  
Indra looks up, her face no longer hard. “Mochof, Heda. It was my honor to stand beside you, as it always will be.”  
  
“Come to your feet. You must not dirty your armor, it is not often you get to wear it.”  
  
The hint of a smile pulls at Lexa’s lips and Indra nods, standing straight.  
  
“I’ll send my best lookout to the Skaikru camp immediately. He should be there within the next few hours.”  
  
“Mochof, Indra. Go, enjoy the beginning of the festivities. Today we will no longer speak of conflict.”  
  
Indra nods, turns and leaves the room and Lexa is left with the lingering feeling of heat down her spine. The smallest mention of... of _her_ , and she becomes someone she is not used to – a version of herself she has not lived as for a long, long time.  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
  
  
“This is enjoyable, is it not?”  
  
Lexa looks to the side as someone bumps into her shoulder.  
  
“Nyko.”  
  
“You look as if you’ve eaten a handful of dirt, Heda,” he says, a smile peeking through.  
  
“It feels that way sometimes,” she says with a sigh, playing with the strap of her shoulder guard.  
  
Niani was overjoyed to hear of her attendance at the festival, and had eagerly suggested an outfit – a flowy blue shirt with long sleeves, billowing over her hips and stopping just above her thighs; tight black pants with leather stitched in to accent it; and her newest, nicest pair of boots. She had conceded, the outfit not entirely like her but the color of the shirt had calmed her and reminded her of soft cerulean eyes, so clear and deep she could lose herself and swim within them. Black leather bracers laced up her forearms, and her red shoulder guard was cleaned and polished and billowed around her. Her hair was braided, but not as harshly as it was for battle - small braids were scattered throughout her hair, and a few pieces pulled back and out of her face.  
  
“I did not think it possible for our people to look at you with more adoration than before,” he utters. “But they stare at you as if you hung the moon in the skies.”  
  
“Do they know they look at a traitor?”  
  
Lexa looks forward, but sees Nyko’s furrowed brows from the corner of her eye.  
  
“They know their Heda did as she must. They know she fought hard, as she always has, and are not concerned with the… hurt feelings of those that are not our own.”  
  
She is silent, staring at the sight in front of her – musicians playing jovial music, people dancing and laughing, children play fighting with long sticks of wood. There is food and happiness and everything is awash with the sparkling glow of victory.  
  
“Commander,” Nyko says, facing her fully now. She looks at him, her mouth set in a hard line. “In war, nothing is off limits. We do what we must to protect the people we cherish.”  
  
“And what then if the people we cherish are the same as those we must hurt?”  
  
There is silence for several long seconds, and Lexa is sure he will not reply.  
  
“Then we suffer as we try to forgive ourselves of our past wrongdoings.”  
  
She nods slowly. “There is where my problem lies – I do not think I can.”  
  
Lexa turns and walks away before the stinging of her eyes worsens and she sheds tears in front of her people. Heda does not shed tears, Heda stares into the face of agony and laughs… or so the stories of her tell.  
  
Indra and another guard are behind her, following but not too closely, silent and on watch. They bristle when a small woman with short, dark hair and an intricate facial tattoo approaches them. Lexa’s hand comes to rest on the pommel of her sword.  
  
“Hod op. She is one of mine,” Indra says, stepping forward. “Heda, the lookout you requested from TonDC.”  
  
The woman bows to one knee.  
  
“Heda, ai laik Chana kom Trikru”  
  
“You may rise to your feet, Chana. Why are you back so soon? Did I not request for you to return to Polis in three day’s time?”  
  
The woman stands, and Lexa can now see she looks unsure.  
  
“There is much to discuss, Heda. I have observed many things in a short few hours.”  
  
Lexa nods, and tilts her head toward her residence.  
  
“Come. We will discuss what you have seen when there are no unwanted ears to hear it.”  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
  
  
“Heda kom Skaikru is gone.”  
  
Chana wastes no time once the door to the room is closed. They are in one of the rooms where the council meets, thick walls surround them so nothing can be heard from outside.  
  
Lexa whirls around, her cape billowing around her. Her bones run cold and a chill rips down her spine.  
  
“ _Gone?_ What do you mean gone?”  
  
“I arrived and kept to the trees, on a small hill just to the side of their camp. Most of those I could see were wounded, the others tending to their injuries.”  
  
Lexa swallows, trying not to appear as eager as she feels.  
  
“Shortly after I ate my mid-day meal, there was a large commotion. A woman entered the clearing where the wounded lay, screaming for the Heda kom Skaikru.”  
  
Her head feels light, and there is a cold sweat beneath her clothing. Had they punished her for her actions, taken her as a criminal? She did not think Skaikru customs against killing others were upheld when in times of war, but she could not be sure.  
  
“A tall boy with dark hair approached and spoke to her in hushed tones. I went closer and climbed a tree to hide in the leaves so I may hear what they spoke of. The woman was angry, and then began to cry. Word began to spread through the camp, and eventually those Skaikru closest to where I was perched began to talk of what had happened. Heda kom Skaikru left her camp of her own free will, and no one knows where she was headed.”  
  
Lexa presses a hand to her chest, feeling her heart thumping loudly against her bones. She does not speak, and no one makes a sound until she does.  
  
“Can you find her?”  
  
“Find her? Heda, I – “  
  
“ _Can you?_ ”  
  
“Heda, I’m… I am but a lookout. My brother, Pell, is a tracker.”  
  
“Sha, Heda. The brother she speaks of is one of the best trackers in my city. I can send her back with word for him to begin searching the woods for Heda kom Skaikru.”  
  
A rush of gratitude for Indra flows through Lexa’s chest and she nods, turning toward the large table in the center of the room and leaning against it, her palms flat on the table. Her head is down and she takes in controlled breaths, not wishing to show those present her conflicting expressions.  
  
“Sha, make it so. Chana kom Trikru, I will reward your family well for the work you are doing for me.”  
  
“ _Mochof, Heda_. I am honored to have done my part to serve you.”  
  
Lexa looks up but does not turn around.  
  
“You may stay in Polis for the night, enjoy the festivities. Indra will find a place for you to rest.”  
  
Indra, her guard and the girl leave and Lexa is left alone, her head filled with a deluge of alarm that she forces herself to hold inside.  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
  
  
She dreams, for the first time in a long time. They are in the woods. The past Commanders are standing in a circle with their backs faced to her as they stare at something she cannot see. She speaks to them, asks them what they stare at – they are silent, and act as if she is not there. She shakes their shoulders, walks back and forth between them as an increasing sense of panic surges throughout her chest, but she does not know from where it comes.  
  
And then she hears it.  
  
A sobbing, a raspy whine that rips through her bones and makes her breathing come faster. She pushes through now, yelling at the Commanders, shrill and desperate. Her hands grasp leather and metal as her body squeezes through small, unwilling gaps made for her until she stumbles into the middle of their circle. The air chokes itself in her throat as she sees the figure laying on the ground.  
  
She is curled into a tight ball, her hands fisted in her hair so tightly Lexa is sure she must be ripping some of it out. Her knees are pulled up to her chest and she gasps for air as if something is blocking her airway.  
  
Her arms are reaching out and she tries to drop to her knees, tries to crawl over to the girl and help her, hold her - but strong arms are dragging her _back, back, back_ and she claws against them, screaming out.  
  
She wakes, sitting up in bed as a name drags itself out past her lips.  
  
“ _Clarke_.”  
  
  


  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Oh boy. This is going to be a long ride, I think. I'm treating this kind of like my re-do of canon, which is definitely not a new concept but I do have some fresh as hell ideas, so hopefully you all enjoyed this first chapter and stick around to see where this crazy train ends up. Please leave a comment if you feel so inclined, they really do make my day - I do the whole squealing, kicking my legs thing, it's... embarrassing.
> 
> Until next time. Xx


End file.
